Seven watched the Alpha take the longer route.
The pack house entrance was right there — twenty steps, straight ahead, but Rodrigo's eyes grazed it once and moved away, and he turned down the east corridor without a word, the one that wound past the council chambers and added five unnecessary minutes to the walk. Seven followed without comment and kept his observations to himself.
The study was dark when they entered, the torches unlit, the room carrying the cold of a space that hadn't been occupied in weeks. Seven moved to the wall and lit them one by one while Rodrigo crossed directly to the compartment against the far wall, the one built into the stone beside the window. He pulled it open and stood there for a moment before reaching past the newer bottles at the front and pulling out one from the back — old, the label worn at the corners. He carried it to the table and set it down.
Seven pulled two cups from the drawer and placed them across from each other and took his seat.
